


i know your eyes in the morning sun

by priscilladm



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Ishbal | Ishval, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priscilladm/pseuds/priscilladm
Summary: Brigadier General Roy Mustang and Captain Riza Hawkeye share a drink after wrapping up their first day of the Ishvalan restoration mission. Post-Promised Day.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	i know your eyes in the morning sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vade_brucestephenbucky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vade_brucestephenbucky/gifts), [rizahawkayyyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizahawkayyyy/gifts).



> this will make the most sense if you’ve read my other fics “slow dancing in a burning room” and “punishment”, as this is an AU of “punishment” exploring a different type of ending. that said, this is a standalone fic that doesn’t rely on prior knowledge of those other works, so it’s not a requirement to have read them!

Years ago, Brigadier General Roy Mustang laid waste to the desert nation of Ishval, and all he’s wanted ever since has been to restore it.

For years this desire for restoration felt like a pipe dream, a way to justify his deliberate planning and borderline treasonous ambitions. Plenty of people have been in his way, distracting him with unimportant personal politics and preventing him from actualizing his goal of atonement.

But now he stands in the middle of the very desert that comprised his nightmares, poised to reconstruct the place he ruined with a snap of his fingers. 

He’s accompanied by his most trusted officers: Warrant Officer Kain Fuery, First Lieutenant Heymans Breda, First Lieutenant Jean Havoc, and of course Captain Riza Hawkeye. They’re one of the most decorated units in Amestrian military history, and the knowledge that these loyal, capable soldiers are at his side imbues in him a sense of confidence and security that he certainly would not possess if he arrived alone.

Most of the afternoon is spent talking with locals, assuring the few Ishvalans in the region that they intend to help rebuild the land. At first there are plenty of apprehensive tones and raised eyebrows, but none of this matters to Roy. Very few people’s opinions matter to him, especially since he knows that he’s finally doing something good. All that matters to him is the ability to leave behind a legacy of peace, to right the wrongs of his life.

The day quickly comes to a close as the sun begins to set. The Mustang unit prepares to return to their set-up dining quarters, where approximately a month’s worth of unpleasant nonperishables await them, but the Ishvalans hospitably offer to feed the soldiers dinner instead. At first Riza shares with Roy her apprehension, as befits her nature as the protector of their group, but the Ishvalans divulge that they are eager to support this Amestrian team if only so they can all coexist in peace.

Under the duress of war, Roy never had the opportunity to learn about Ishvalan culture firsthand, so the cuisine is unfamiliar, but he is impressed by both the complexity of their food’s spices and the people’s kindness in spite of all he’s done. This breaking of bread among two groups of people with more differences than similarities reminds Roy once again that shared humanity is what brings people together.

“We look forward to a strengthened relationship with Amestris,” says one of the Ishvalan men, as the soldiers prepare to leave. “All we’ve ever wanted is peace and a place to call home again.”

Roy shakes his hand. “We look forward to rebuilding and working together.”

After their meal, the unit makes their way to their sleeping quarters. There are five soldiers, and three sets of two rooms each, so one room guarantees some semblance of privacy, and an argument quickly ensues about who has the privilege of solitude.

The brigadier general argues that as the commanding officer he deserves the private room, but Havoc promptly reminds him that he should always be accompanied by someone, at which point Riza offers to pair up with Roy for his safety.

“Well, I guess it’s better to have you than any of these fools,” he remarks jokingly, resigned to his fate.

At the behest of Breda, the three remaining officers play a game from the west called rock-paper-scissors. Breda easily bests Havoc and Fuery, and everyone laughs genuinely for the first time in ages as they bid each other good night and head their separate ways.

“You know, you call them fools, but I think they take after their commanding officer,” Riza teases in response. She’s carrying both of their bags, and Roy tries to take his back from her in an attempt to be equitable, but she refuses. It comforts him to know that, after a long day and an even longer road ahead, she still insists on thoughtful gestures like this. She’s always been this way: easing his burdens tirelessly, without complaint, and without need for acknowledgment.

Still, he wishes he could do something besides simply say thank you, so as they approach their set of rooms, Roy invites her in for a drink as a way to unwind after a long first day.

“I managed to stow away a bottle of whiskey in my bag,” he explains with a smirk.

She laughs. “Your priorities never cease to fascinate me, General,” she says, returning his smirk with a grin of her own. “Still, I don’t know if that’s wise. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“You’re my bodyguard and my right hand,” he states simply. It’s true: they’ve spent plenty of late nights together, and whether it’s been in the office or at a pub, they’ve always adhered to the boundaries of professionalism, even if it’s just been the two of them. “But if you don’t want to, if you just want to get some rest—that’s fine too,” he adds, assuring her that she is always in control of her choices.

Riza pauses a moment to consider his words before nodding. “Alright. Give me a few moments to get settled in my own room, then I’ll join you.”

Both enter their respective rooms, and Roy is struck by just how much has changed since the first time they were in this desert. The only real similarity is the uniform they don, though even that has changed, with more stars and stripes accumulated over the years. Their lives have certainly been plagued by losses and sacrifice since then, but they’ve also gained so much. And none of these losses or gains have been an equivalent exchange; they may be interconnected, as all life is, but Roy knows from experience that nothing is ever truly 1-to-1.

He’s abruptly brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Riza knocking on the door twice in quick succession, one of the many codes they’ve developed over the years. Even though they’re safe from the homunculi, and they’ve shared a congenial meal with some Ishvalans, it’s better to be cautious in a situation like this.

As he moves to welcome her in, he’s surprised to find her dressed in a light blue pajama set. It’s nothing lavish—a silk long-sleeve button up and matching pants—but it’s undeniably informal, in a way that he hasn’t seen from her in years. The only indication that she is a soldier is the set of heavy duty boots on her feet.

“I’d like to avoid wearing my uniform here when possible,” she explains softly, sensing his confusion. “But I can change back, sir.”

Roy sympathizes with her: their goal of rebuilding has felt so lofty and unattainable, and they’ve spent so much time figuring out _how_ to get to Ishval that they haven’t given much thought about what it might _feel_ like to be in the place that caused so much of their trauma.

“No, that’s alright, Hawkeye,” he responds. “I can change too if you’d like. I just hadn’t thought of it that way.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever makes you comfortable is fine with me, General.”

Roy scrunches his face and apologizes for the lack of amenities in his room, and she reminds him that they are essentially in a wasteland, so of course there aren’t luxury accommodations available. He offers the bed to her for seating, and she raises an eyebrow before he assures her that he will sit on the floor.

“A king should always treat the queen with the very best, even at his own expense,” he explains, taking a seat on the ground. He immediately realizes how inadvertently flirtatious his sentence sounds and feels color rising to his cheeks. Really, all he meant was that she should always have the better of two options. “If we’re talking about metaphors, of course,” he adds hastily.

Riza is the only one who knows about his chess metaphor. At first this was a function of necessity, but even with a full team he trusts, he relishes in the fact that there is at least one thing Roy can share with just her—even if it is just for work.

She smiles. “Yes, but true kings and queens are equals,” she points out, motioning to join him on the floor.

Roy is surprised, unsure if she’s responding flirtatiously or if she’s sharing a different take on the metaphor—but he’s flattered by her analysis nonetheless. In military rank they’re no equals, but this has always been Riza’s choice. As an impeccable sharpshooter with fantastic administrative abilities and an uncanny ability to inspire others, she could no doubt be of equal stature to him, if not higher. Ranks aside, in Roy’s mind she far exceeds him in every quality worth noting: compassion, diligence, precision, warmth. The fact that she considers him even close to her level as a human being is the ultimate vote of confidence, and even though he doesn’t find himself worthy, it fills his heart.

He hastily throws his jacket down on the floor and asks her to sit down on it. “So your clothes don’t get dirty, at least,” he mumbles, still lost in his admiration.

She smiles and sits to face him. “I appreciate that, sir.”

Roy gets up to retrieve the bottle of whiskey from his bag and sits back down next to her. “I’m sorry I don’t have any glassware. I wasn’t really expecting company, so we’ll have to just pass it around.”

He offers her the first drink and she takes a quick swig, commenting on how smooth it is. She has always been able to hold her own, whether it’s at the bar, the shooting range, or in combat. He smirks as she hands him the bottle back, and as he takes a sip of his own, he remarks that she’s always been the only one in their unit to be able to outdrink him; she laughs and reminds him that he never eats enough before they go out drinking, and he’s so awestruck by the way her eyes dance in genuine amusement. It’s a picture he has committed to memory, in the event he ever loses his sight again.

Riza catches him staring and he immediately feels himself blushing, but instead of poking fun at him, she tactfully asks what it was like when Roy lost his vision. Her tone is gentle and affirming, rather than the perverse, pitiful curiosity he is subject to when others ask. Even after all these years he’s astounded at just how sensitive she can be to him: how she can tease him when appropriate but also how she can expertly shift conversations to more practical topics.

“You know, there are plenty of sights in the world to behold,” he responds. “Streams and rivers, deserts, museums, libraries, paintings. Most people would have missed those.”

She hums, nodding. “But it sounds like you didn’t miss those things very much, sir.”

“No, Hawkeye.” Roy pauses briefly to make eye contact with her. She meets his gaze with the focused intensity she always gives when they’re having a serious conversation. “One of my last memories before I lost my eyesight was holding you, as you lay bleeding, as a result of my foolishness. Since then, one of the only things I’ve wanted in life has been to replace that sight.”

The vision of her mere centimeters from death comes rushing back to him, so in an attempt to escape from this traumatic memory, he takes another sip of whiskey and recalls the last time he held her in his arms instead. “Do you remember when I taught you how to dance after we burned down your father’s house?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yes,” she responds simply.

After returning from Ishval, Riza had asked him to burn down her childhood home. At the time, it pained him not only because of his own personal connection to that household, but because he’d already set fire to the secrets of flame alchemy on her back, at her behest. Too much of his life at that point had already been spent using those secrets to cause destruction and agony.

Still, he relented at that time, knowing that it would bring her a peace she greatly deserved. Before he set the house on fire, though, Riza asked Roy to dance with her, and they held each other close, slow dancing in a burning room. The memory of that moment—compassion and care for each other, despite the world around them quite literally being on fire—is branded in him deeper than the transmutation circle carved on the back of his hand.

Roy asks if Riza would care to dance once more, and as the words come out of his mouth, he’s surprised at how forward he is. He doesn’t know if it’s the liquor, or the desert air, but either way he hopes she won’t hold it against him. She bites her lip slightly, something she only does around him, when she’s deciding whether it’s worth it to let him be impulsive or if she should stop him.

He’s prepared for rejection, but Riza nods slowly without a word and Roy rises from the floor at an eagerly quick pace, holding his hand out to her. She places her hand in his with apprehension and rises to meet him, placing her hands on his shoulders stiffly. Not wanting to make her feel any sort of pressure, and not wanting to pry, he follows her lead and allows her to maintain her distance. Still, it doesn’t make sense, given the intimacy of their last dance, so he reassures her that they can stop if she is at all uncomfortable.

He meets her gaze as tears begin to well in her eyes. “It’s not that,” she answers. “It’s just… very difficult to be here again.”

Immediately he understands. This place is the site of horrors they’ve both witnessed and directly caused, the beginning of the end; none of this is easy.

He slowly closes the gap between them and holds her tightly, cradling the back of her head into his hand. She sobs softly into his shoulder as she returns his embrace, and feeling the warmth of her body against his is more intoxicating than any amount of liquor he could ever drink. She smells of roses and sand—no doubt a result of their first day in this expansive desert—and though it’s an odd combination, it’s _her_ , and she makes him _feel_.

It’s not fully accurate for Roy to categorize his feelings as attraction, romance, passion—those words are reductive and fail to do justice to what this woman really means to him. There’s more to her than just what he can see with his eyes; if he stayed blind the rest of his life he’d still be confident in her radiance. In front of others she always puts on a brave face, but he’s deeply moved by her ability to be vulnerable when it’s just the two of them.

Still, Riza is beautiful beyond measure, especially in this moment. Even though he has known her for years, and has always found her to be beautiful, he’s struck by just how different she looks right now in his arms. He could get lost in her eyes, and he wants to do that forever.

It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly _when_ he fell in love with her. Certainly it was before she lay bleeding in front of him. Maybe it was when she was removed from his unit, or perhaps it was when they were transferred to Central from the east. _No, that feels too late_. Or it could have been when she pledged her loyalty to him after their service in Ishval. It could have been even earlier than that, when she was simply Master Hawkeye’s daughter, Miss Riza.

But it doesn’t matter when it happened, because at the end of the day she’s his Captain and his Queen.

Not in a way that suggests he owns her, of course; she isn’t an object to be gained, a prize to be won, a possession to be held. Rather, she’s the one he has been able to trust, the one who’s always guided him in the right direction. The one to tame all his wild impulses—except this one.

Roy buries her into his arms and presses a soft kiss to the top of her head, selfishly holding her just a little more tightly. Her cries stop; she looks up to meet his gaze, and it becomes abundantly clear that not only does she feel the same way he does, she has for quite some time.

There’s a desperation and longing caught in his throat: he wants to tell her he loves her, and to hear her say those words back, but ultimately those words wouldn’t matter either way, because they don’t materially change a thing. Their love is a conversation they’ve been having for years, a language only they know. On the one hand it’s marked by perfectly made cups of coffee first thing in the morning and brand-name dog treats from an “anonymous admirer”, which are easier to point to. But more than this, it’s punctuated by wistfully exchanged glances throughout the day and late nights spent in the office writing coded notes after informant dates.

To the untrained eye their biggest commitment is Amestris, and their work must go on regardless, but their journey together is its own vow, too.

Riza moves to kiss him, and he can’t help but wrap his arms around the small of her back to lift her up and spin her around in the air. He fights the urge to close his eyes; he needs to savor this moment, to milk it for all it’s worth, to permanently remember exactly what Riza Hawkeye looked like upon their first kiss.

“I wouldn’t say sleeping quarters in the desert merit such displays of romance,” she remarks dryly as he sets her back down on her feet. “But I enjoyed it nonetheless.”

It doesn’t surprise Roy that she is so nonchalant about something as special as their first kiss, and in fact, he finds it charming and so characteristically _her_. He doesn’t know if she’s ever dated before, or been intimate with anyone else, but he has never thought of her as one who needs grand gestures. Still, he wants her to know the deeply, almost comically romantic side of him, in the hope that it doesn’t turn her away.

“If you enjoyed it, would you consider spending the night?” He’s participated in a genocide, confronted literal monsters, and even lost his eyesight, but he’s never felt more nervous about anything in his life. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I just want to be here with you.”

She maintains a composed, straight face, and Roy’s anxiety skyrockets, but her words warm his heart. “As a warning, I have awful breath in the morning,” she responds flatly as she removes her boots and takes a seat on the bed.

“Well, it’s a good thing I always pack spare toothbrushes when I travel,” Roy says with a laugh. “I’m going to change out of this uniform, if it’s alright with you.”

“Of course.”

He moves towards his bag and finds his own pajamas—a black t-shirt and grey flannel pants—before hastily throwing off his pants and shirt. She admonishes him about getting his uniform dirty, but as he pulls on his sleep clothing, he reminds her that it’s only a matter of time before it gets dirty in the desert regardless. (The real reason for his rush, of course, is that he cannot wait to be able to embrace her again.)

Before she can get a word in edgewise, Roy’s fingers brush against her bangs as he plants a kiss on her forehead and assures her, “All I want to do is hold you tonight. Is that alright?”

She nods again—that same slow, sweet nod—and this time it’s his turn to fight back tears, but these tears are out of joy and incredulity, that he’s able to actualize two separate dreams in one day.

It’s easy for them to fall into each other’s arms from there, with soft kisses and soothing embraces, in a way that is remarkably tender and chaste. Her touch is gentle and affectionate, especially when she puts her hands on the sides of his face to draw him in. He’s besotted by the fact that there’s a spot on her neck that makes her giggle when kissed, and though he’s not a religious man, he prays that he remembers that sound on his deathbed. His hands never roam or wander, because this is Riza and she means so much more to him than a hazy encounter on a too-small bed in Ishval, and he doesn’t want anything more than what he’s already asked of her. Instead he both hopes that there is a next time and understands there probably won’t be.

He wishes this could go the whole night but it’s been a long, eventful day. The combination of Ishvalan cuisine, liquor, and passionate kisses sneaks up on them before they fully realize it.

Morning comes far too soon, and Roy awakens to find Riza’s back pressed against his chest.

For years, he’s asked her to watch her back, urging her to shoot him if he ever deviates from the right path. But for the first time, the tables are turned, and he’s overwhelmed with her absolute trust in him—trust that he can take care of not just himself but her as well, even in her sleep.

He begins to pull his arms away from under her, knowing their day begins soon and they must come back to the reality of the path they’ve chosen.

His sudden movement rustles her; she turns towards him, drowsy and barely conscious, and mumbles something indecipherable.

“Good morning to you too,” he answers, sweeping her bangs from her face as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Now, what was that you said?”

She sinks back into his arms, and he savors the feeling one more time as she says more lucidly, “Thank you for watching my back, sir.”

Though he’s disappointed that the evening couldn’t last forever, he knows this isn’t the last time he’ll see her eyes in the morning sun.

**Author's Note:**

> this idea came from a tumblr ask from @vade_brucestephenbucky, and @rizahawkayyyy seemed into it too, so here it is! title taken from one of my favorite songs ever, “how deep is your love” by the bee gees. i’m a huge sucker for the saturday night fever soundtrack :’)
> 
> i thought about making this a little more adult in nature, since “punishment” very much implied a potential drunken hookup, but i still don’t think either of them would want their first time together to be in ishval. besides, the world is falling apart anyway, so i figure self-indulgent fluff is never a bad thing, right?


End file.
